


The Latticed Heart

by Bewscuttles



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Motherhood, Race Against Time, Terminal Illnesses, disguises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 18:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bewscuttles/pseuds/Bewscuttles
Summary: When a human infant falls into the Underground, Toriel sees it both as a second chance at motherhood — and a second chance at redemption. But five happy years later, she learns the child is terminally ill, beyond her capabilities to heal, and needs a human doctor. Casting aside her self-doubt, she travels with Frisk through this new and unfamiliar Underground, racing against the clock and her own past.





	The Latticed Heart

**I. The New Arrival**

* * *

   
The day had gone as usual: in a lazy drawl, with nothing interesting to disrupt the quiet. Silence pervaded every inch of her home, undisturbed as it had been for a century. The autumnal colors and the sugary smells were the few personal touches that held any real warmth; the rest of the decorations were sad, nostalgic echoes of happier times. She kept things simple, for her own sake and for the memories of eight lost souls.

Toriel had been absorbed within her well-worn copy of _Slug It Out: A History of Snail Warfare_ when a round of persistent knocks assaulted her door. Scrambling to her feet, she tossed on her shawl and ran to the front door, pulse racing. The cacophony was deafening; whomever it was seemed desperate to speak with her. With a strong tug she snatched open the door, sending a familiar quartet of Froggits sprawling across the foyer.

They were her neighbors, all of the same extended family. They sprang up abruptly when they caught sight of her.

"Miss Toriel! Miss Toriel!"

"Ribbit! Quickly—"

"—was shouting!"

"—needs help! Ribbit!"

Bemused, Toriel righted her shawl and stood up taller. The Froggits went silent at her posture. It was the Teacher's Pose, and ten generations of the Froggit family had lived under her tutelage. It was bred into their family at this point.

"Thank you," she said, clasping her hands primly. She belatedly realized her glasses were askew along her snout and quickly corrected them. "Now, tell me what the problem is."

Again, the four launched into another round of babbling.

"There's a real mess, near the entrance—"

"Ribbit! Someone threw something down!"

"—screaming, lotsa shouting—"

"—and this flower is arguing with some clothes—"

"Super strange! Ribbit!"

"—it looked kinda like what Whimsun was like when they were small—"

"Ribbit! From the Surface! I saw it!"

"Really furry pile of clothes! Pink, too!"

When she heard that last bit, Toriel shot past them like a rocket, throwing apologies over her shoulder as the Froggits scrambled out of her way. She didn't pause as her neighbors called out to her, so intent was she on her goal. She'd never been the athletic type (rather, she was the exact opposite), but she made remarkable time, her long legs eating ground, the stitch in her side muted. There was no time to waste, because if what the Froggits said was true...

Then another human child had fallen down.

By the time she reached the hilly foyer to the Ruins, a small crowd had appeared by the large Corinthian columns. Among the many monsters assembled were the shy Loox, seemingly the rest of the Froggits' extended cousins, several Vegetoids, and, surprisingly, even the young ghost that came to visit every so often, though he sat near the back, tears dripping down his face. Monsters who could fly or levitate were hovering nervously; the enterprising spiders, having seen a business opportunity, had set up several webs around the fringes of the crowd; a Migosp was trying to incite a riot (and failing); a small white dog that she'd grown to dislike over the years was yapping happily at a particular piece of grass. Thankfully Brock, an amiable puzzle-helper, was sitting just by the columns, offering commentary to whomever listened.

As Toriel waded through the crowd, the noise grew louder, and louder, until she felt the tell-tale tingle of oncoming tinnitus. There was no doubt of the fury in the shouts, but the voice itself was completely foreign to her, despite having known every monster and their descendants since she first began her self-imposed exile. The voice shifted from high-pitched to low each moment, as if it couldn't be contained to one end of the spectrum; and yet, Toriel mused, its tone was strangely juvenile. After dealing with a large assortment of children in her lifetime, Toriel knew well what a temper tantrum sounded like. It was the most impressive and loud of the bunch, she had to admit, but she could manage another unruly child.

What gave her true pause, however, was the undertone of another voice, this one nearly drowned by the first's tirade. It sounded similar to a newborn's wails, and it confirmed her worst fears about the pile of clothes. But two voices? Had two humans fallen into the Underground?

"Excuse me, Brock," said Toriel, lightly tapping on what looked like a rock on its nonexistent shoulder. "If I may have your attention?"

"—and that sounds like a jen-yoo-wine whining, if'n I know my—ah, Miss Toriel!" If a large boulder could blush, then Brock was as red as a flame. "Whatta pleasure! Are ya here for the show?"

She smiled politely down at him. "Yes, my friend. Could you please inform me of the current situation?"

He seemed to puff up with pride at her words. "I'd be glad to help, Miss Toriel! Lemme see..." He trailed off, and another shriek of rage cut through the crowd. "Well, I dunno for sure, seein' as how I've been here just under a smidgen longer than you, but it seems like there's a new arrival!"

"Humans?" she asked, glancing nervously into what little she saw of the next room.

"More like, eh, juss one, miss. An' it seems like a real whippersnapper, don'tcha think?"

"One?" She stared at him, incredulous. "But then—who is in there with the child?"

"Ah." He seemed to deflate. "Yer guess is as good as mine, little lady. All I know, all I know what Whimsy says, a big ol' blankey fell down from on top, an' now someone's real mad at it."

"Thank you, Brock." Waving him and the crowd's questions off, Toriel took in a breath and stepped out of the room, drawing closer to the stream of sunlight that marked the Barrier's entrance. As she drew near, the voices grew much more distinct, and what she heard made her blood boil. She had been right: One of the voices was a very small child's — an infant's, if she guessed correctly. The other was an older child's, somewhere between eight and ten, and the words they spoke were both bizarre and terrible.

"You stole it! You stole everything, you worthless piece of trash! Look at you, you're just a stupid dumb baby! My determination! You ruined _everything!_ "

She gasped, and then her eyes narrowed to bare slits. No child, she thought, no child in these Ruins spoke such vile things, not if she had anything to say about it! For centuries she had taught the monsters here, and if these were the words of one of the inhabitants, they were going to get the scolding of a lifetime. She marched forward.

As Toriel blinked away the change in light, she found herself speechless. Bathed in an ethereal glow were two small creatures, both laying atop the small patch of golden flowers that marked her lost child's grave. One was a flower monster she'd never seen before, of a similar appearance to the flowers; its face was seemingly elastic in appearance, stretched down in a deep scowl, and pressed close in examination of what looked like dirty rags. The rags were wrapped around something that was wiggling inside, but she couldn't see past the curled petals of the flower.

"You're scum," the flower spat, its stem shaking. "You're nothing but scum!"

Keeping a careful eye on the flower, Toriel circled around the pair, her shadow slowly covering them both. The flower tensed under her scrutiny, and its words cut off abruptly. It looked up at her, its face contorted into a hideous sneer, fangs bared—but when it got a good look at her face, it suddenly morphed into a neutral, if not wary, expression. A hushed susurrus fell over the crowd at the flower's silence.

"Oh," it said, glancing backwards to the door. "It's you."

"Have we met before?" asked Toriel, brows raised. She was quite sure that they hadn't, but it would be rude not to ask.

A small frown passed its face before it gave her a big cheery smile. Even had she not listened to its performance earlier, the smile came off as false. "Once or twice before."

"Is that so?" She eyed it up and down, unimpressed. "I'm afraid I don't remember."

"It was—gosh!" it exclaimed. It looked down, as if in embarrassment. "I just didn't know how to go up and introduce myself. I mean, you're real nice and everyone in the Ruins knows about you. The great caretaker!" It peeked up through its petals. "Wow, it's an honor to meet you, finally!"

Toriel hadn't been born yesterday. But seeing such an innocent expression (the same expression her Asriel used to make whenever he wanted a bit more pie), she couldn't help softening a little. She knelt until her knees just hit the flowers and extended her hand.

"Well, I suppose introductions should be in order," she said politely. "I am Toriel. And you are?"

"Flowey!" it said, smiling brightly. A small vine popped up from the ground and shook her hand. "Flowey the flower!"

"A pleasure," she said. But then she frowned and the stern voice came back full force. "Flowey, if you know me as you say you do, then I must ask why you believe I would allow such awful language. And so loudly, at that!" She gestured to the doorway. "You've attracted an audience with your screaming."

Flowey scowled and looked away. "I didn't mean for that to happen," he muttered, though whether he meant his choice of words, or being caught in the act, he didn't clarify. She let it go for now, as there was much more important business to take care of.

"Flowey, please, if I may see behind you," said Toriel. She didn't wait for a reply, however, before she ducked behind him and peered over the cocoon of rags.

She was struck with a memory at that moment: One of a tidy bedroom, the room warm and inviting, the smell of sugar and blossoms wafting from the hallway. The sounds of crying washed over her tired ears like bathwater. There, at the side of her bed, was her beloved husband as he stood holding a bundle, whispering happy nonsense as he cried. His beard had not grown to its full length yet, and she could see his chin wobble and his nose run. She called to him, a soft few words, and he lowered himself closer to her face, the bundle at eye-level, and the scent of their combined magic (weapons' polish and coal) and the sight of downy white fur moved her to tears.

This particular bundle in the present moment was made of discarded rags, patches of white among anonymous brown stains, and tied together harshly with rope. There was only a single hole open for breathing, and the bundle's contents peered up at her, its cries pausing only a moment as her shadow blocked the sunshine. She sucked in a breath and smelled golden flowers, a hint of smoke, and an underlying note that was alien to her.

"Oh my," she breathed, raising a hand to her cheek.

She hadn't seen such a young human in a very, very long time, even before the Barrier had been erected. As she watched in stunned silence, the little human wriggled in discomfort—it was practically strapped into the rags by the rope—and, when it couldn't move, began to wail once more. Its pink face, so strangely wrinkled and lined like an elderly human, puckered up in frustration. A small paw clawed its way out, fingers grasping at empty air.

"Great," said Flowey, rolling his eyes. "There it goes again."

Toriel ignored him. "Oh, oh dear. I think—I think it's hungry." She jerked her head about, a note of panic welling within her. "We have no milk, I—oh, oh—there, there, little one."

She gently—oh-so-gently, lest her nails scrape tender skin—scooped up the rags, supporting the head on her elbow. She'd forgotten how tiny human infants were; this one was barely the size of her forearm. It felt so incredibly fragile in her arms, the way it kicked so feebly, the way it flopped as she delicately turned it so that its face was against her chest. Safe in the cradle she made, she rocked back and forth, shushing its cries and whispering words of comfort. Eventually, a little while later, the child calmed and the room was silent again. Even the crowd had quieted down.

"Oh dear," she said to herself. This was completely unexpected. There had been children before that had fallen into the Underground, but never one so young, so defenseless.

"Flowey, dear," she said, looking down, "did you witness what happened?"

He scowled at the other flowers, as if they were responsible for his stroke of bad luck. "No," he spat, then upon seeing her suspicious eyes added quickly, "I mean, I _couldn't_ see anything! The stupid—the baby, it landed on top of me, and before I know it I've got this weird human yelling at me right in my face! Feh!" He glared at the human before turning his whole stem away from the sight. "I was just minding my own business. By myself."

Toriel sighed. "Well, thank you, Flowey. Although I wish you had come to me in the first place—" here she made an expression that said, _We'll talk about your behavior later_ "—I do appreciate your staying with the human. In the end, the situation, while not ideal, is at the very least resolved."

"Yeah, yeah." His eyes darted around the room before he swiveled on his stem. "Can I go now?" he asked petulantly.

She hummed a noncommittal sound. She glanced between him and the doorway, wondering for a moment. A troubling thought occurred to her.

"Ah, my child," she began softly, and she noticed he flinched at her words. Bending down until they were eye-level, she said, "I can't help but wonder: Do you know where your parents are? Do you need an escort?"

He froze. His petals wilted—and then, as if burned, he jerked away from her, his face contorted into a sneer, a snake-like tongue writhing in the air. It was impressive how quickly his face changed, she'd never met another monster so expressive; and when she blinked, he was once again smiling wide enough to stretch his stamen.

"No thanks!" he exclaimed cheerfully. With one last parting glance at the human, he burrowed underneath the ground, a ripple spreading amongst the flowers.

She spent another few minutes guiltily replaying the conversation in her mind. For all her years in diplomacy, thought Toriel bitterly, she had been incredibly tactless. Another mistake to add to the pile.

But she had more important matters to attend to. Though it peacefully slept now, she knew the human would wake soon enough. What food could she provide? She'd never raised a human child so young; she knew they required milk within the first year, but beyond that she had no clue. The human children she'd cared for had been old enough to speak for themselves, to know what they wanted. She doubted a human infant would appreciate cinnamon-butterscotch pie, magical or not. Did human infants even have teeth?

Oh, what a mess.

Yet, as she stared intently at the human's tiny face, she felt her soul flare up in yearning. It had been so long since she'd held a child like this. Not since Asriel. The Ruins were a lonely place; she hadn't had company in close to a century. Of course it was partly her own fault: She kept her neighbors at a distance and refused any offers of close friendship. After so many mistakes, so much disappointment and sorrow, she had refused to become attached. Not even the human children before this, for they, too, ran from her in the end.

Everyone left her eventually. Was it so wrong to avoid attachment when they inevitably abandoned her?

But this child—far too young. She couldn't afford to leave it alone. It was helpless. If she left it here to rot, would she be any better than the humans that had thrown it away? No, the thought was crushed the very moment it entered her mind.

At this, the human let out a little yawn, barely a whisper. Its hand reached for her shawl and slowly gripped it in shaky, tender little fists. It smacked its tiny lips together and wrinkled its nose. She couldn't help the smile that grew on her face.

Oh, but she was in love.

 

* * *

 

The crowd fell into a hushed silence as she approached. Cradling her child gently, she stood to her full height. The effect was immediate: everyone looked to her, dozens of eyes trained on either her stern gaze or the rags in her arms. She cleared her throat.

"Thank you," she said, once the last of the whispers died. Looking around the room, she smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way. "I've found the source of unrest. It seems another human has fallen into the Underground."

Astonished murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"A human?"

"When was the last time one fell?"

"Do they eat monsters?"

"What do humans look like?"

She raised a hand. The noise died down. "Ahem. This situation is quite unusual and I will need everyone's cooperation for things to settle peaceably." Taking a deep breath, she gestured for a young Froggit from the front of the crowd to come closer. It hesitantly hopped forward.

"Come," she said, bending forward until the child was near the Froggit. The crowd leaned towards her. "Please, don't be shy. I wish to introduce our newest human friend."

"Ribbit. Are you sure it's...safe?" croaked the Froggit. It was sweating. A few timid members of the audience stepped away from the scene.

She smiled. "Of course. This human is far too young to even speak, let alone hurt another."

Cautiously it leaned forward until its snout was near her child's face. The baby was asleep still, lulled by her movements and healing magic; even with a new monster poking its nose against the side of its face, the child slept on undisturbed. When it became clear that nothing horrific had happened, the Froggit gave her a puzzled look.

"Ribbit. It's so soft!"

"Indeed," she replied. This was all the encouragement the crowd needed before a subdued swarm surrounded her. They were all very polite, if not excited in the way they frantically whispered to one another, careful not to waken the baby. It was only when the more enthusiastic monsters began to poke and prod a little too hard that she stood up and decided it was time to return home. They begged and whined at her to let them take another look—after all, no one had seen a human before!—but she refused.

"But wait!"

"Miss Toriel!"

"What about a name?"

She stopped mid-step and frowned. She hadn't thought of that. What did humans name their children? Her only references had already come with names.

"Name it Pinky!"

"Rita!"

"Human!"

"You can't name the human _Human_."

"But that's what we do!"

"Toriel Junior!"

"Something that rhymes with orange!"

"All right, yes, thank you," said Toriel, shooing them away. "I appreciate your concern, but I believe it's time to tend to our new friend. Run along, please."

The crowd followed her all the way to Home, talking amongst themselves about name possibilities, and how fast humans grow, and whether they could use magic, and would it be appropriate to give them a magic bullet birthday card, and did humans even have birthdays? Even once she was inside her house and had closed the door a few stragglers stood in the yard, discussing a whole slew of questions Toriel didn't even want to think about at the moment. Not that she didn't appreciate their generosity and willingness to accept a new human, but the enormity of the situation had only just struck her, and all she wanted to do was sit down in her armchair and think.

And so she did. The baby hadn't yet woken, thankfully. She settled down into the upholstery and hummed a tune she'd always sung to Asriel when he was this age. Rocking her arms back and forth, she simply basked in the warmth of her child, wondering of what the coming days would bring. Soon enough, her movements grew slower, and slower, and slower yet, until without realizing it she had fallen asleep, the human curled up against her.

Of course, later she would be woken by a wailing baby, and she would have little to no rest in the days ahead. But for now, she slept on and dreamed of a time when it was not a human, but a monster in her lap, blissfully unaware of the flower that observed her from the window.

**Author's Note:**

> I won't be able to update this very often, so feel free to use the concept.


End file.
